Insect
by NickeltheRed
Summary: Just my idea of what happened between Tom and Ginny before Harry entered the scene.


(Common disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and original story belong to J. K. Rowling, not me, just this fanfic.) This is my second story that I have decided to post up. And I have to inform to the reader that I've read a slight number of fanfics revolving around this idea as well. I'm aware it may sound cliché and familiar, but I promise that I wrote this far back in 2004, so I did steal this plot from any other authors on this site. **Supportive and reasonable reviews are welcomed, but please not bashing or heavy flames. **

Tom causally paced around the Chamber, twirling the diary between his hands. It was only when she moaned, the first sound she had made in a while, did he glance her way.

He strolled closer. "It would be less painful if you did not fight it, you realize?" he said, almost, _almost_ in remorse.

"No, I won't give up yet," the girl said breathlessly.

Tom smiled proudly at his little broken white pawn, "Spoken like a true Gryffindor."

"I'm so stupid."

"Stupid," Tom agreed, then praised her gently, "but very loyal. That is a significant quality, Ginevra."

He was the only person who addressed by her given name. With heavy lidded eyes she looked up at the aged ceiling, detailed with carved-in serpents, weaving and coiling together in what would have been a beautiful dance if they would ever animated.

"I'm cold…."

"It happens. Just try and remain still." He knelt beside her to wrap her cloak more securely around her, and then he wiped the thin tears away from the corners of her eyes using his sleeve. "The more you let it come naturally, the more comfortable you will pass."

"I wish I could see my family again."

"You will, soon," Tom replied calmly.

"You promise?" she sighed. She was slipping. All that she was thinking was through a white haze growing inside her mind.

"If I am to succeed, then yes, they will see you again shortly."

"Please, Tom," she breathed, "do it fast. I don't…want them…to suffer."

Tom nodded, sliding his diary under her pale hand, "Those who I do not need on my side will meet death soon."

"Then…why is it taking me so…long?"

"Because, Ginevra, I still need you," he replied honestly, "It takes time for the absorbing to be complete."

She gulped in more air, and coaxed herself to not panic for what was to come of her in a small matter of time.

"Tom?" her voice was weak, but not unnerved.

"What is it?"

"That time…when I was writing to you…down by the lake…few months back. You told me of your summers…when you were a boy. You would go to the caves and they were filled with those butterflies sometime. They were rare you said. Black…and purple wings. You thought…they were fascinating…and beautiful in their own way…but you told me their lives were very short and—"

"Beauty like that cannot exist very long, because there would be no beauty in the nature of the thing, otherwise."

"…Could you show me?"

Tom stared indifferently at girl, eyelids lowered. He sighed, eventually lifting his hands above her body and made short, graceful gestures. Soon enough, a thin shimmering, dark mist appeared, and it sprouted out from the space between Tom's hands. It flowed apart gently, slowly like blood underwater. The separate liquidly streams rose up as they glowed brighter and twisted into an orb. Then the cocoon slit open elegantly, and a swarm of butterflies sprang from the crack.

Ginny surveyed the insects fluttering, and winding through the air around the two of them. They left trails of glitter behind their paths, which rained down, but evaporated just before hitting the stone floor. Their large wings were black as night, and decorated with rich violet swirls.

After a minute or so, when the swarm faded away, Tom's now contented smirk met her drowsy, yet amazed expression as she let go at last and fell into unconsciousness.

"Goodnight, Ginevra."

When he stood, looming over the girl, he noticed something amusingly peculiar—the pools of ink and drain water surrounding her body made it appear as if she had butterfly wings.

He laughed. "Something beautiful in its own way can never exist very long, because there would be no beauty in the thing, otherwise."


End file.
